


i'm a little sun shy

by jsmmns



Series: sun shy [1]
Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 05:42:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8238041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jsmmns/pseuds/jsmmns
Summary: Everyone was happy. It was what Erin realized as her friends’ faces appeared in her head. She almost smiled herself, but the fact that it didn’t quite reach her eyes frustrated her. She’d been lying awake ever since she decided to call it a night at around nine. She turned to rest on her side so that she was now facing her nightstand.She watched her alarm clock wearily as 11:59 changed to 12:00.Everybody was happy. But by how much sleep she’d gotten thus far, Erin was the odd one out.(Erin doesn't show for work, so Holtzmann goes to her place to investigate.)





	

In the aftermath of the almost fourth cataclysm — she called it that because it hadn’t been successful, _Rowan_ hadn’t been successful, she had, or rather _they_ had in defeating him, sealing up the portal, saving Abby, finally proving to the world ghosts _were_ real — business was now booming at the Ghostbusters’ new location in the firehouse. Every time she opened those red doors, she could feel it, how alive the place had become. She was met by the dumb grin of Kevin, then the smarter, larger one that belonged to Patty, of course. Abby’s prideful, resilient smile — as if she hadn’t almost vanished onto another plane of existence a few weeks ago — and Rebecca Gorin’s sage one.

She couldn't forget Holtzmann’s, the one that tweaked around, a bit like the way a screwdriver did.

Everyone was happy. It was what Erin realized as her friends’ faces appeared in her head. She almost smiled herself, but the fact that it didn’t quite reach her eyes frustrated her. She’d been lying awake ever since she decided to call it a night at around nine. She turned to rest on her side so that she was now facing her nightstand.

She watched her alarm clock wearily as 11:59 changed to 12:00.

Everybody was happy. But by how much sleep she’d gotten thus far, Erin was the odd one out.

She’d _been_ happy; that was the key to understanding. She’d been happy in the moment: the moment she regained her bearings, realized Abby was next to her, hair white as a ghost, back on the curb in front of the Mercado Hotel; the moment Holtzmann stood up to do a toast at the restaurant, voice slowly building up speed until she was a train going right off the tracks, sitting right back down with an expression that read, “That isn’t where I meant to go with that,” which disappeared seconds later behind an easy grin that reassured, “All is fine here;” the moment Patty led them up to the roof to watch as the windows on New York skyscrapers and apartments sent their love to the one and only Ghostbusters.

She’d been happy in the moment, the moment that had long since past. Her mind buzzed with forethought again instead of afterthought.

She wasn’t ghost girl anymore. People still talked about her, but it wasn’t in the manner the kids at school had. She sparked conversations now, _made headlines_ now. She was under the spotlight, she was the center of attention, and yet here she was, at 12:03, thinking about what could have been her tenure, Columbia University, a normal life.

She wasn’t ghost girl anymore, but she sure as hell still felt like it.

She didn’t regret anything that had brought her to where she was now. Erin had learned firsthand that regret wasn’t the way to go about living her life. Years ago, she thought regret would consume the rest of her life. She certainly thought about it, though. She thought about something, which led to how that something could have been a different something, a something that led her down a completely new path.

What if one something changed so much they’d never saved New York? What if one something changed so much she’d never even reunited with Abby, and met Holtzmann for the first time?

Now she was entirely unsure whether this was just thinking or, for the first time in a while, regret.

She knocked her knuckles against the wood of the nightstand drawer and managed to find the knob on her third try. She pulled it open and dipped her hand inside, feeling around some more until she grasped the spine of her copy of _Ghosts from Our Past: Both Literally and Figuratively: The Study of the Paranormal_. She used as much strength as she could muster to get the hardback out and onto her stomach.

 _“Back when we wrote the first edition of_ Ghosts from Our Past _, we were young and green and full of Chinese takeout...”_

It was the book. The book was what had brought her down to the basement of the Kenneth P. Higgins institute and rapping on the open door leading into Abby and Holtzmann’s laboratory. The book was what had brought her to the Aldridge Mansion and soaked in ectoplasm for the first and most definitely not the last time in her life.

If Abby hadn’t republished the book, Erin supposed the tenure, the university, _the normal life_ wouldn't have mattered if she wasn’t there when Rowan opened the vortex. She wouldn't have been able to save them from being flattened by the parade balloon. She wouldn't have been able to save Abby, if they’d even manage to make it that far.

This was the one something. The weight of the text seemed to double once she realized that.

Now fully awake, Erin picked herself up out of bed, deciding she’d much rather continue reading instead of wasting another hour away trying to fall asleep. The sheets had become uncomfortable to deal with, anyway.

She padded out of her room, holding the publication to her chest. She made her way into the kitchen, coffee on the mind. The fluorescent light on the ceiling buzzed to life, and she headed straight for the coffee machine. As the brew started, she opened up to the page she’d wedged her finger between. She read: _“We printed a truckload of copies but no one wanted them. We were too far ahead of our time. A promotional appearance on a campus talk show,_ Wolverine Scene, _didn’t play out the way we’d intended, and our friendship and the book died quiet deaths.”_ Once the coffee was done and dispensed, Erin took the mug into her hands carefully, arms full as she was still holding her book, and headed out to the living area without bothering to switch the light off.

She turned on a floor lamp in the corner, which illuminated the room, provided it was the only source. She settled into the sofa, and let all of her worries ride off on the brief caffeine high she’d pitted herself into to keep awake as she studied a few more chapters. It did the job and lulled her straight to sleep.

 

 

 

 

The first thing Holtzmann observed the next morning — more like _afternoon_ — was that Erin’s coffee was cold.

She took a sip to double check. _Yeah, definitely cold._

She went off to retrieve a blanket to cover Erin with, and entered a bedroom which she assumed was where she slept. The distinct sound of an alarm clock hit her, and she plugged her ears in immediately, slamming the sleep button with her elbow. Once it stopped beeping, Holtzmann collected the comforter on the bed into her arms and carried it out. She draped it over Erin respectfully, but she didn’t hesitate to brush away the few strands of hair that had fallen over her face during the night. This revealed the saliva that had collected on the bottom edge of her pillow, and Holtzmann had to suppress a laugh at the odd sight. She hadn’t taken Erin to be a drooler, was all.

Rather than let a good cup of joe — save its temperature — go to waste, Holtzmann downed the half Erin had left overnight as she headed into the kitchen to refill it.

She’d noticed something off about Erin, but whether Abby and Patty had caught on was beyond her. If they did know something, they hadn't expressed their concern for it. She found it strange that they hadn't, considering they all knew Erin wasn’t one to be absent unless she’d provided a good reason to be. It was why she’d taken it upon herself to check on her when she hadn’t come in today. Her sleeping form on the couch was reassuring, to say the least.

But she’d hold off on calling Abby and Patty to let them know she was alright. She had to do something first.

As the coffee machine whirred to life, there was a second between Erin’s soft snores and the loud, unnecessary slurp Holtzmann made to get the last of the coffee out of the mug, and she was up.

“Who’s there?!” Erin rounded the corner gripping the Swiss Army knife Holtzmann had given her. By the looks of it, she’d cut her thumb attempting to open it.

“Just me,” Holtzmann answered. She set the cup down on the kitchen island. “Did you…?”

She didn’t think Erin knew what she was referring to until she opened her hands up.

“Oh.” The lightest shade of red bloomed across her face. Any darker and Holtzmann would have been set into motion; the last thing she wanted was for Erin to faint. Erin swiped away the blood with a finger. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“C’mon,” Holtzmann said, plucking the knife out of her fingertips and tossing it into the empty mug. “I’ll patch you up.”

Erin couldn’t exactly argue. Holtzmann had taken her by the hand without another word. She led Erin into the bathroom — after taking multiple guesses at where it was and leading her into two closets — and the silence that followed them in held up until Holtzmann instructed Erin to sit on the counter.

“Why?” Erin protested. “It's not like… it's on my leg! You don't need to elevate me if it’s just on my thumb.”

“Nope, this is the procedure. I  _have_ to follow it,” Holtzmann insisted. When Erin didn’t budge, she sighed and moved toward her, grabbing her by the waist and hoisting her up.

Too late Erin screamed, “Holtzmann! Put me down!” She didn’t resist too much though, not wanting her to drop her accidentally. Quiet returned for a beat, the only sound the huff of breath Holtzmann let out as she set Erin on the counter, and another beat too long, she still had her hands on her hips.

“Stay right there.”

Holtzmann retreated and turned away to look inside the closet behind the door. She tore through the shelves that Erin just had to ask: “You're going to clean that all up, right?”

“Right.”

It didn’t sound convincing.

Eventually she found what she was looking for: a package of band-aids. She pulled one out and tossed the box back into the closet, shutting the door with her foot before Erin could see if it had actually made it onto a shelf.

“You ready?” Holtzmann asked, ripping the paper cover and slips over the adhesive away.

“You’re not going to disinfect it first?” Erin teased.

Holtzmann scoffed, and continued to make incoherent noises when she couldn’t think up an immediate retort. Finally: “It’s not like… it’s on your leg!” she mimed. “I don’t need to disinfect it if it’s just on your thumb.”

Erin glowered at her. “You're despicable.”

“Actually, I’m Holtzmann.”

Erin showed Holtzmann where the cut was, and she placed the bandage over it, wrapping it around her thumb just tight enough so that it wasn't cutting off the circulation. She was about to thank her when she felt her press her lips to the middle padding that the cut was under.

“Good as new.”

By now, the color of embarrassment in Erin’s cheeks had disappeared, but when she blushed this time, she pinked, making her appear shy at the flirting notion. She assumed it was the reaction Holtzmann was hoping for, as she beamed at her when she offered her hand to help her down.

“That was fun and all,” Erin said as they exited the bathroom and headed back into the kitchen. “But honestly, I could have done that myself.”

Holtzmann tried to sound sincere when she said, “There is no way you would have been able to put a band-aid on one-handed if you couldn't even open a knife with two.”

Erin did her best to look offended as possible.

“And like you said, it was fun. I wouldn't have helped you out if I didn't think I could make it fun.”

“You can make anything fun, Holtzmann.” She hadn’t realized there was more behind that statement than she meant until she'd actually said it.

Holtzmann caught on quickly. “Really now? I had no idea you thought so highly of me, Ms. Gilbert.”

Erin winced. “Holtzmann…”

“What? Am I wrong?” She prepared herself for an onslaught of excuses.

“No, you aren't. Just…” She looked down at their hands, which caught her off-guard, but she didn’t let go even after she noticed. “Just call me Erin, alright?”

Understanding that it wasn't up for debate and that what Erin was asking of her was a silent plea, Holtzmann nodded, and adjusted their hands so that their fingers were interlocked. She gave her hand a tight squeeze. “Gotcha. You want some coffee?”

She squeezed back. “That’d be great.”

 

 

 

 

“Why are you here, anyway?”

They’re both on the sofa now, Holtzmann’s legs casually thrown over Erin’s lap. Erin didn’t mind, but she was having a hard time getting into a comfortable position with them in the way.

“You know what time it is?” Holtzmann countered with. Erin ruminated on the question, looking out the window overlooking New York’s cityscape and throwing around a few guesses in her mind. She nursed her cup of coffee, took a sip, and leaned forward to set it down on the glass table in front of them before answering.

“Around noon?” she tried, scrubbing her face with the sleeves of the cream sweater she was wearing. “God, Abby’s gonna kill me.”

Holtzmann nearly rolled off the couch reaching for Erin’s mug, but she managed to secure her fingers around the handle before she could hit the floor. She wasn’t entirely cautious with it though, calling it close a number of times by almost spilling it on the carpet, the cushions, _herself_. She sat up and drank from the same place Erin has, opposite the handle.

Erin bit back a comment, but Holtzmann saw the face she pulled.

“Kevin.” The only name she had to say to rile her up.

“That was one time!”

“That I’m never letting go of.” She gave the cup back to Erin, who surprised her by not choosing a new place to drink. She waited for her to be mid-swallow before providing the correct answer to her question. “And you’re wrong.” She pretended to check her watch. “It's past three, actually.”

Erin did exactly what Holtzmann knew she’d do and spat backwash into the mug, which she accepted when she needed to get it off her hands.

“Past _three!?_ Holtzmann, we need to go!” Erin had no problem dumping Holtzmann’s legs off her, and with a few steps, she was in front of the door. She was halfway out when she realized Holtzmann wasn’t following her.

“Come on!”

“You’re in no condition to go to work if you just woke up.”

“That was thirty minutes ago!”

“Still.” Holtzmann pat her spot on the sofa, and reluctantly, Erin shut the door and returned to where she was sitting.

“I guess that answers why you’re here, then.”

Holtzmann eyed Erin questioningly over the rim of her coffee cup.

“I’m under house arrest now,” she elaborated.

Holtzmann was stunned, but she decided to be straightforward with Erin. “You’re not under house arrest.”

“It definitely feels like it,” Erin muttered under her breath. “Did Abby send you? I swear, if she did, honestly, I can handle myself —”

“I sent me.”

Erin wasn't following.

“I sent myself, I mean. I don’t even know if Abby noticed you hadn’t come in this morning. Patty, too. If they did, they didn’t say anything. I came because they didn’t. I was worried about you.” She hadn’t meant to say that. _I’ve said too much_.

“If you want me to leave —”

“Don’t.”

Erin was still frowning, but her inability to comprehend what Holtzmann had just said betrayed her tone of certainty. Her eyes screwed shut, and she pressed her fingers to her temples.

She breathed out an apology after a minute. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m not used to that, is all.”

Now it was Holtzmann’s turn to be confused. “Used to what?”

Erin moved her hands away from her head and brought her knees to her chest, bracing herself. “Being worried about,” she admitted quietly.

They passed the coffee back and forth between each other. Neither of them seemed to mind that they’re doing so. The sun was at its peak outside, a splash of milky white light coloring the beige walls of Erin’s place. The room was so bright that they could see the dust motes floating right before their eyes. Once the coffee was gone, Erin vanished into the kitchen and returned with two cinnamon rolls on ceramic plates. Holtzmann could smell them from a mile away, and she accepted hers gratefully. Once she recognized their companionable silence had returned, Holtzmann worked up the courage to ask Erin another question.

“How come you slept in so late in the first place?”

Erin seemed to be expecting this question, judging by her brief chuckle. However, she doesn’t answer immediately, mellow smile fading when she realized she held back.

“I lost track of time and went to sleep at a late time,” she offered weakly. It was a good try.

“I don’t believe that.”

Erin nodded her on.

“Look, I know you better. You never just _lose_ track of time. You’ve got a schedule. You follow it. You not following isn't like you. Makes me think you _aren't_ you right now.” Holtzmann’s sentences were fragments, but she knew Erin followed her logic regardless. “Are you okay?” That was the true question.

Erin didn’t hesitate to tell the truth this time. She shook her head.

“What's wrong?”

Her eyes grew far from her, so far Holtzmann no longer thought she could close the distance. Fearing she’d lost Erin to her private thoughts, she took one of her hands into both of hers.

“I’m always going to be ghost girl,” Erin blurted out suddenly, possibly in reaction to the contact. “Maybe before I could have changed that, but now? I can’t.”

Holtzmann was slow to ask: “Would you want to?”

It was a question Erin didn’t know how to answer at first.

“I don't know,” she finally said.

Holtzmann recognized that Erin hadn’t intentionally meant to give her a response that was so vague, but it was little to work with. Either way, though, she knew where to go from here. “Then c’mon.” She squeezed her hand. “I can listen.”

She made her talk it through with herself, knowing she _needed_ this. That was what she’d come here to do. To be a friend.

They started with Erin’s ghost.

As they spoke about it — about Erin’s parents, the therapy sessions, _everything_ — Erin remembered something.

“You said you had questions.”

Holtzmann made a confused noise through her last mouthful of cinnamon roll.

“Back when I first told you and Patty about all this.”

Holtzmann made an unconfused noise through her last mouthful of cinnamon roll. “Not now,” she said.

“Not now?”

She shook her head. “It’s not important.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” she swallowed, and put her plate down on top of Erin’s. “Now, where were we?”

They went on to talk about the later things. Holtzmann brought up the book when her gaze happened to drift to Erin’s copy of it, which was on the glass coffee table under their stack of plates from the cinnamon rolls. Erin had tried unsuccessfully to avoid that topic. Columbia University life and Phil Hudson also came up, but Erin was more than happy to open up about both of those things. Holtzmann had never seen her talk so negatively in her entire life.

Erin had been uncomfortable at first, but the heavy interrogation paid off in a number of ways. The tension eventually eased out of Erin’s shoulders, and her small smile was a victory. Their talk was a success. A large one, at that.

“Thank you.”

Holtzmann didn’t need it, but she accepted it anyway with a silent bob of her head. She didn’t take it farther than that, allowing comfortable silence to lapse in at its respectable pace. She waited for a cue to leave from Erin, having done her job and ready to take off back to the firehouse, trusting Erin not to follow even after having denied that Abby had sent her as prison guard. Her humble gesture wasn’t enough to satisfy Erin, however.

“No, seriously,” she insisted, slipping her hand out of Holtzmann’s and placing both of them on her shoulders. “I appreciate it.” Suddenly she was pulling Holtzmann toward her and headfirst into a kiss.

Holtzmann’s brain practically short circuited when their lips met. She managed to catch herself before she startled and ruined the moment, but the noise she made was something she couldn’t hold back. Thankfully, its volume was smothered out, but she was sure she heard Erin laugh. It would explain the vibration that shook her heart. Either that, or her nerves. Her eyes fluttered shut, and there was nothing but white behind her eyelids, the sun washing out the neutral tones around them. She felt like she could set on fire any second now, and the sensation only increased when Erin moved her hands to clasp behind her neck. It narrowed the gap between them more, their bodies only a couple of centimeters apart now. Because erin was in nothing but a cable-knit sweater, Holtzmann could feel her heat through its holes. She couldn’t help it. Before she knew it, her hands were underneath the hem, cool palms sliding over hot skin.

Erin reacted violently, breaking the kiss in the process. She recovered smoothly somehow, knocking foreheads with Holtzmann to keep the space between them small. Erin wrapped her fingers around Holtzmann’s wrists and directed her hands under the waistband of her shorts, where she _radiated_ heat. Her breaths were still drawn slow though, and because of that, she dove right back in and kissed Holtzmann until she absolutely _had_ to pull back for air.

They both felt molecular, desensitized even when their minds had gone into overdrive. There was the beat before the second kiss, and the beat after. Holtzmann’s thoughts were as spaced-out as they usually were, but they went a mile a minute. She was grinning like she always was, except she looked at Erin like she’d just grown another head. Erin was smiling bigger now, but her expression lost to a frown at the sight of Holtzmann’s gaze. She was just starting to say Holtzmann’s name when she extracted herself from Erin.

“Finish this at work.”

It was barely a sentence, so how was it an explanation? Holtzmann up and left, and with her absence came the cold. Erin folded in on herself, staring at the ajar door for a few minutes in disbelief. She pressed her bandaged thumb to her lips, the taste of coffee and cinnamon from Holtzmann a little comforting. Or was that because she’d had the same thing? She even nodded to herself in confirmation that Holtzmann had kissed back, but nothing gave.

 _Finish this at work,_ she’d said. She hadn’t specified when work was, but Erin knew Holtzmann meant tomorrow. As much as she wanted to go now, and maybe catch up with her before she made it back to the firehouse, she wasn’t going to risk it. She’d respect Holtzmann’s wish. If she needed space, that was reason enough.

But she was still anxious. So, she busied herself.

Erin collected their plates — while picking at a few crumbs from the cinnamon roll on Holtzmann’s plate and licking them up — and put them into the dishwasher, before realizing she needed a distraction. She ended up hand-washing them. Once she was done — and after wiping the two plates over _several_ times — she sunk back into the couch, ready to stay in this spot for the rest of the day. She caught sight of the book and groaned, grabbing a throw pillow and burying her face in it.

Today was going to be _much_ longer than last night ever was.


End file.
